


Wingman

by writeonclara



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Gabriel is a terrible wingman, M/M, but he’s trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeonclara/pseuds/writeonclara
Summary: “Do you understand what will happen to you if you don’t smash your demon buddy? And since you’re”—Gabriel paused to search for the proper adjective to encompass all of Aziraphale’s Aziraphaleness, then settled on—“you, God commanded me to help you. And buddy, you need all the help you can get.”Or: Gabriel’s assigned to be wingman for Aziraphale to keep him from Falling. He’s about as good at it as you’d imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My fill for the prompt: https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=818536
> 
> I’d like to rec the amazing One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan for a fanfic with amazing pick up lines. Parts of this fic were inspired by it.
> 
> Also, I would like to sincerely apologize for the pick up line in this chapter that has been used roughly five billion times in this fandom. I just couldn’t resist.

“She wants me to _what_?”

Uriel looked just as baffled as Gabriel felt. She shrugged both her shoulders so high they nearly touched her ears. “Sandalphon told me that Raphael told him that Michael told him that—”

Gabriel waved both his hands, getting the feeling that if he let her continue, she’d go through the whole Host of Angels before she got to the point. “Give me the line at the bottom, Uriel.”

“I was going to, if you had just let me finish,” said Uriel, scowling at him. “_Anyway_, Metatron told Michael that God told him that if Aziraphale doesn’t, er, shag Crowley senseless, then he’ll Fall.”

“Huh,” said Gabriel, both impressed and mildly scandalized. A part of him wondered why he should possibly care whether or not Aziraphale Fell, but it wasn’t his place to question. It had been a long, long time since God had given anyone a direct order, and Gabriel would do everything he could to prove She didn’t make the wrong choice in choosing him for the assignment. _Him_. 

His chest puffed up. “Of course She would choose me. I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel.”

He refocused on Uriel just in time to catch the tail end of her eye roll. 

He glared. 

She blinked. 

“Of course,” said Uriel, blandly. “And do you have a plan for how you’ll, er, execute Her order?”

“Oh yes,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I have a _great_ plan.”

* * *

The sign on the window of AZ FELL AND Co. declared, under no uncertain terms, that it was CLOSED, but that meant nothing to Gabriel. Any closed door could be opened if one just had the will. And so he pulled the door off its hinges and set it against the wall. 

“Aziraphale!” he bellowed.

“What—?” The frumpy, dumpy, blond Principality shuffled into the shop from a back room, blinking at his door. “What have you done to my door?”

A shiver worked its way down Gabriel’s spine. He wasn’t _afraid_ of Aziraphale—it was just that, the last time they’d seen each other, Aziraphale had roared Hellfire at him like a damned dragon. He hadn’t yet Fallen—why would God send Gabriel on this mission otherwise?—but he had—evolved. And that was fucking weird. Bacteria evolved. Bugs evolved. Angels _did not_ evolve.

Except, apparently, Aziraphale did.

But there was no way in Heaven that he would show this very very slight unease to Aziraphale. He snapped his fingers to get his attention. “Forget the door, Aziraphale.”

“Oh good Lord. What are _you_ doing here?” said Aziraphale, not looking at all gratified that Gabriel had graced him with his presence. Gabriel sneered at him. At one point, the sniveling Principality would have shown him the proper respect. 

“I am here to help,” said Gabriel magnanimously. 

Aziraphale stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Move, Principality.”

“Er, right,” said Aziraphale, stepping back to let him in.

Gabriel swirled into the shop, surveying it with his hands on his hips. He sniffed the air. “Ah, excellent. It smells evil in here. That means your little demon butt buddy has been over recently.”

Aziraphale choked. “_Excuse_ me?”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, like he was searching for the demon’s name. As if he could possibly forget the worse half of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber. “You know. Crowley.” He made it a point to pronounce the ‘ow’ in Crowley like ‘cow,’ just because he knew it would piss Aziraphale off.

“_Crowley,_” Aziraphale corrected, with a slight wince. He was _so_ predictable. “I’m not sure what I could possibly need your help with.”

“Rude,” said Gabriel, deeply offended. “I am very helpful.”

“I’m sure you are,” Aziraphale quickly soothed. “But I assure you, I’m quite happy with my current situation.”

“That’s because you don’t possess all the information,” said Gabriel. He bent his head slightly to look Aziraphale deeply in his eyes. 

Aziraphale, alarmed, retreated back a step. “Don’t tell me Heaven wants to try to make an example of me again.”

“Worse,” said Gabriel. “God wants you to shtup that demon friend of yours.”

Aziraphale gaped at Gabriel uncomprehendingly. “What did you just say to me?”

“Sorry to say, but She wants you to screw the demon silly,” said Gabriel, brutally. “To do the horizontal tango with him. To fuck him into next week—”

“I get the picture!” yelped Aziraphale, flinging up both his hands in horrified self defense. “But _why_?”

“It’s not my place to question.” Gabriel straightened the cuff of his jacket primly, then frowned seriously at Aziraphale. “But if you two chuckleheads don’t make the beast with two backs ASAP, you _will_ Fall.”

Aziraphale blinked. “But, Gabriel—”

“What do you mean _but Gabriel_? Do you understand what will happen to you if you don’t smash your demon buddy? And since you’re”—Gabriel paused to search for the proper adjective to encompass all of Aziraphale’s Aziraphaleness, then settled on—“_you_, God commanded me to help you. And buddy, you need all the help you can get.”

Aziraphale’s mouth clicked shut. He looked outrageously offended for a moment—probably at the idea of screwing a _demon_, friend or no—before his expression smoothed out. “I see. And how were you planning on helping me—er, ‘smash’ Crowley?”

Gabriel struck his hands together and pointed to Aziraphale. “Seduction!”

“Oh good Lord,” Aziraphale muttered.

* * *

“Alright,” said Gabriel, a general speaking to his foot soldier, and smacked his ruler against a rolling chalkboard. Across from him, Aziraphale sat at a student’s desk. Gabriel had miracled Aziraphale’s back room into a classroom to better suit his needs, complete with a teacher’s desk with an apple on it (a little Eden joke, ha ha), much to Aziraphale’s obvious displeasure. Because, as usual, Aziraphale failed to grasp the big picture. “From the top.”

“Gabriel, I really do think if I just speak with Crowley—”

Gabriel clapped his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Aziraphale. As a former Principality, you can’t possibly comprehend the nuances of seduction. That’s why I’m here.” Gabriel pressed his lips tightly together in a friendly smile. “As your wingman.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. His mean intelligence would obviously struggle with the intricacies of sexual congress. It was a good thing God assigned Gabriel to help.

“Well?” he prompted.

“‘Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven’,” Aziraphale recited, flatly.

Gabriel whacked his ruler against the chalkboard. “More _passion_!”

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven!” Aziraphale shouted.

Gabriel pointed at him. “That was _excellent_. I think we’re ready for Phase 1, don’t you? Oh, but before that—” He snapped, and a thick, blue manual landed with a thump on Aziraphale’s desk, sending up a small cloud of dust that was _everywhere_ in Aziraphale’s dirty little bookshop. 

Printed on the cover were the words: 

**THE ANGELIC SEDUCTION INSTRUCTION MANUAL**  
Volume I: How to Seduce a Demon: The Definitive Guide  
by Archangel Gabriel

Aziraphale stared at it in horror. “No, really—”

“I don’t like this ‘no’ attitude of yours, Aziraphale. Need I remind you what will happen if you fail?” Gabriel whistled and made a plummeting motion with his hand, ending it with a small explosion. He stared meaningfully into Aziraphale’s eyes, then clapped his shoulder. “Read it. Study it. Make it yours.”

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale grumbled, flipping open to the first page.

* * *

The hallway they were standing in was sterile. Gray. Lit by strikingly fluorescent lights. Gabriel approved of the minimalistic design, but it would have been much better if it were a pristine white. Possibly with a glossy finish.

“This is your boyfriend’s apartment, huh?” said Gabriel, conversationally. He examined the door. It didn’t look particularly evil, but it certainly smelled it. He scrunched his nose in distaste. Demons. Ugh. He could only be thankful that God hadn’t wanted _him_ to lay with a demon as a part of Her Great Plan Part 2.

“I thought the whole point of this was that he _isn’t_ my boyfriend,” grumbled Aziraphale.

“Never fear. With my help, that’ll change in under forty-eight hours.” Gabriel reached out to rip the door off its hinges, but Aziraphale smacked his hand down.

Gabriel slowly turned to him, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

Aziraphale looked terrified for a moment, then jerked up his chin and stared defiantly back at him. 

“Fine, fine. We’ll do it your way,” Gabriel said.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale lifted his knuckles to the door, but hesitated. At an encouraging scowl from Gabriel, he knocked.

The door swung open immediately. “Hey, I thought that was you loitering around in my hallway like a creeper, angel—” The demon wasn’t wearing sunglasses, and he had a grin at the ready, but it dropped into a frown Gabriel was more familiar with. “—s. Angels. There are two angels. Why are there two angels in my hallway.”

Gabriel smiled with all his teeth. “Hello, Cowley.”

“_Crow_ley,” Aziraphale hissed.

“Gabriel,” Crowley said, arcticly, slowly looking Gabriel up and down, before dismissing him and turning back to Aziraphale. Gabriel would have been offended if this weren’t so promising. If Crowley was so into Aziraphale that he could ignore a paragon of masculinity such as Gabriel for _Aziraphale_, then this should be easier than he could have dared hope. “Is everything alright?”

Gabriel nudged Aziraphale with his elbow. “Now’s your chance, Principality,” he whispered, saying _Principality_ like a school kid said _loser_. Same difference.

“Did—” said Aziraphale, haltingly, which was just typical of him. Gabriel gave him one simple assignment and of course he was managing to fuck it all up. “Did it hurt when—oh, I can’t do it.”

The demon was beginning to look alarmed. “Angel, really, do you—” he glanced at Gabriel, then leaned forward and whispered, “Do you need help?”

“You have _no_ idea,” sighed Aziraphale.

Crowley frowned consideringly at Gabriel, clearly trying to decide whether he should risk hellfire or just grab Aziraphale and run. Gabriel attempted to look helpful and friendly, even as he drove a knuckle into Aziraphale’s back as angelic encouragement. Aziraphale jumped slightly.

“Say the fucking line, Aziraphale,” hissed Gabriel.

Aziraphale shot him a glare over his shoulder, then turned back to Crowley. “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” he said, apologetically.

“Yes,” said Crowley, blankly. “You know this. The boiling pits of sulfur weren’t exactly luxury hot springs.”

Aziraphale’s glare at Gabriel turned into a scowl.

Hm. Well, that didn’t go as expected. Perhaps that wasn’t the best pick up line to lead with. “Try chapter eight page one-thirty-two, three lines down.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gabriel, I really think—”

“Now, Aziraphale!”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, not dropping his hand from his face. “Do you know what would look great on you.” He said it in a flat voice, going against all of that afternoon’s training.

“Most everything, actually,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale lowered his hand to smile at him. “That’s true.”

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel snapped.

Aziraphale waved his hand. “Right right. Me.”

“You what?” Crowley asked, frowning.

Gabriel slid a disbelieving hand down his face. “How did you manage to screw things up _this_ badly? Right! Back to the drawing board.” He grabbed Aziraphale by the arm and hauled him away from the door.

“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Crowley called.

“Eight on the dot, my dear,” Aziraphale called back, just before Gabriel miracled the door shut after them.


	2. Chapter 2

At precisely 7:50 that evening, Archangel Gabriel stood in the Ritz, staring down his nose at a stiff-backed maître d’.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?” asked the maître d’, looking Gabriel over with a critical eye.

“No, but I’m sure you’ll find a table for three just opened up,” said Gabriel, then smiled. With his teeth. Humans often smiled with their teeth.

“Uh,” said the maître d’ for the first time in his life. He stared at Gabriel’s smile, then quickly down at his reservation list. “I’m afraid we book out months in—” He cut off, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in confusion. “My apologies, it appears you’re correct. Right this way, sir.”

Gabriel adjusted his collar as he followed the maître d’ into the restaurant. He really hated places like this. The ambiance was great and all, but food and _digesting_ was just so—so _human_.

“Here you are, sir.” The maître d’ stopped in front of a table, holding out one hand. 

Gabriel’s grin froze on his face when he saw just who was waiting for him.

“_You._”

* * *

“Oh, good Lord,” said Aziraphale, stopping abruptly in the doorway to the Ritz. He caught Crowley’s wrist before he could bumble into a catastrophe. 

Crowley paused midstep, frowning at Aziraphale. “What is it?”

But Aziraphale had already turned around, dragging Crowley with him. “Do you know, I believe I fancy Italian tonight. There’s a restaurant that just opened up in—”

Crowley craned his neck to look at what had startled Aziraphale so badly, then yelped. He huddled closer to Aziraphale and frantically whispered, “What the hell is _she_ doing here?”

* * *

“Me,” Beezlebub agreed pleasantly. People screamed in terror, before abruptly turning back to their meals. For the benefit of the humans, she’d lost her giant fly hat, and her face was clear of any festering sores. “What’s this I hear about you lurking around Earth? You do realize that can be taken as a declaration to start shite, right?”

Gabriel straightened at the implied threat. “I am here to execute Her Great Plan Part Two.”

“Oooh, another Great bloody Plan,” Beezlebub sing-songed, waggling her fingers. “What’s it this time? Plague of locusts?” She buzzed her s’s, much like Crowley slipped into a hiss when he was irritated. “Another great flood? Or are we going modern this time? EMPs are really _in_ these days.”

“None of the above,” said Gabriel, dusting off the front of his jacket to show how far above her nonsense he was. “I have been assigned to help Crowley and Aziraphale have sex.”

Beezlebub gaped at him. Then she burst into hysterical laughter, rocking back in her chair so precariously that only a miracle could have saved her from falling to the floor.

“What are you—stop laughing!” Gabriel commanded, which she, of course, ignored. _Demons_. “I said stop it!”

Beezlebub rocked forward again, knuckling a tear out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, get your knickers out of your arse. What’s the problem here then? She didn’t say your little principality _has_ to shag him, just that if he doesn’t, he’ll Fall.” She held out both her hands. “He’s out of your perfect hair, I get to torture him for eternity. It’s a win-win.”

“I can’t fail,” said Gabriel, real panic seeping into his voice. Beezlebub blinked at him. “Don’t you get it? God hasn’t spoken to anyone in _centuries_, and what’s the first thing She says when She finally does? ‘Gabriel, go forth and make sure the Traitor bangs the Snake’.”

“No, really,” Beezlebub said, impressed.

“Not _really_.” He paused. “Actually, she said that Aziraphale would Fall if he didn’t, uh, ‘shag Crowley senseless’.”

“Huh,” said Beezlebub. She fiddled with a wineglass, a puzzled frown sketching the corners of her mouth. For a long moment she said nothing, before apparently shrugging it off and grinning at him again. “Have you even _had_ sex before?”

Gabriel reared back in revulsion. “I would never defile the sanctity of my body with carnal indulgences—”

“Oh save me your sanctimonious crap,” Beezlebub interrupted, waving the wineglass at him. “All I’m saying is, how can you help your little wing-wank get laid if you’ve never even had sex?”

“Are you propositioning me?” Gabriel asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

Beezlebub let out a tremendous snort. “As if I would ever defile the sanctity of my body with—”

“Oh, shut up,” Gabriel cut in. “What are you suggesting, then?”

A grin spread slowly across Beezlebub’s face. At the same pace, a chill crept down Gabriel’s spine.  
“Have you ever heard of PornHub?” she asked.

* * *

Crowley was misting his plants, whistling a cheerful tune to himself, when his front door disappeared. He stared blankly as Gabriel stalked in with a box clutched between two hands.

“What the fuck did you just do to my door?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Crooly, what a surprise,” Gabriel said, as if he hadn’t just disappeared Crowley’s door and waltzed into his flat like a bad odour. 

Crowley folded his arms over his chest and glared. “Not to be a bad host, but kindly get the fuck out.”

One corner of Gabriel’s mouth curled up in a sneer that he failed at turning into a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t spend any longer in this hellhole than I absolutely have to.” He thrust the box into Crowley’s hands. 

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” Crowley demanded, glaring down at the box. He half-expected a cherub to pop out with a squirt gun filled with holy water.

“It’s a gift from the Principality. Aziraphale.”

Crowley blinked at him. “Why didn’t he give it to me himself?”

“Never mind! Just take the stupid gift, will you?”

Crowley took the stupid gift.

“_Thank_ you,” said Gabriel, exasperated. “Now remember, don’t fuck this up.”

“Don’t fuck what up?” Crowley asked, but Gabriel had already swirled dramatically out of his flat.

Crowley stared after him, mouth parted in shock. Shaking his head, he made his way over to his desk and set the box down, then slit the tape with his nail. 

Then he grabbed the box with both hands and flung it across the room, scattering several bottles of lube, a half a dozen sex toys and other such wildly disturbing paraphernalia, and at least four suggestive magazines. 

The last thing to flutter to the ground was a small scrap of paper, on which was inscribed the incredibly ominous words:

**PREPARE YOURSELF.**


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale lifted his phone and brought it to his ear. “Hello,” he said, menacingly.

“_Angel, what the fuck!_”

“Crowley!” said Aziraphale, in a much different tone. “How are you, my dear?”

There was a long exhalation of breath over the other line, and Aziraphale didn’t need to see Crowley to know that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “_Why,_” he said slowly, “_did Archangel-fucking-Gabriel give me a box full of sex toys?_”

“Oh dear.”

“_And why_,” continued Crowley, “_is there now an entire bloody chorus of angels serenading me in my kitchen_?”

A beat of silence passed during which, yes, Aziraphale could hear the angels in the background, slightly muffled and singing their little hearts out. “_Gabriel is up to something, isn’t he?_” asked Crowley, deceptively calm.

“Well, er, yes,” Aziraphale admitted.

“_I’m coming over._”

“Do you want me to go there?”

“_If you think I’m going to stay here while these wing-wanks bung hallelujahs at my head, then you’re out of your bloody mind._”

“I’ll get out the Burgundy.”

* * *

“What was he trying to do anyway? Drive me out of my flat and into your arms?” Crowley asked an hour later, then paused. “Actually I supposed it worked.”

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” sighed Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley lifted his head from where it had been resting over Aziraphale’s heart. He propped his chin on Aziraphale’s chest and looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Not that I would ever object to fucking with Archangel Gobshite, but were you ever planning on telling him that you’ve been, ah, ‘shagging me senseless’ for the past year?”

“He’s trying so hard,” said Aziraphale, running his hand down Crowley’s naked back. “I would so hate to disappoint him.”

Crowley, who had his own opinions about the _I’m-Archangel-fucking-Gabriel_ and couldn’t care less about whether or not he was _disappointed_, wisely kept those thoughts to himself. “So, what were you planning to do?”

“Well, I was thinking,” said Aziraphale.

* * *

In his excitement, Gabriel blew the door off its hinges and into the bookshop.

“Aziraphale!” he bellowed.

Crowley slid one hand slowly down his face, reminding himself that it would all be over soon, and this freakishly beneficent Gabriel would skip back to heaven where he would, hopefully, die.

Gabriel strode across the bookshop, waving a telegram excitedly. “Is it true? Are you _really_ shagging the demon?”

“Well,” Aziraphale muttered to Crowley, watching as the one stubborn customer that had been loitering around his first edition _Murder on the Orient Express_ scrambled out of the shop. “At least he’s good for something.”

Gabriel stopped directly in front of Aziraphale, arms akimbo, the _creepiest_ grin on his face, showing way more teeth than normal. “Well?” he demanded.

“It’s true!” said Aziraphale effusively. Maybe a little too effusively. Abruptly, Gabriel frowned. “Really, it is. We’re, er, shagging like bunnies!” He beamed, somehow making the truth sound like an absolute lie.

Gabriel folded his arms over his chest. “As much as it repulses me to say it, I’m going to need _some_ evidence before I can consider my mission complete.” 

He looked expectantly at Crowley.

Aziraphale looked expectantly at Crowley.

Crowley watched them with interest.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed.

“Right right.” Crowley unfolded himself from Aziraphale’s hideously uncomfortable wingback chair, dusting off the front of his trousers. “Oh!” he said, casting himself into Aziraphale’s arms. “Take me now, you magnificent sex beast!”

Aziraphale caught him. “_Really_, my dear,” he murmured.

“Just going for realism, darling,” said Crowley, flashing a grin up at him. 

Behind him, Gabriel clapped his hands together, like they were at some bloody pantomime. “Great! Now, according to human pornography, the next step is for you to kiss.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale in horrified disbelief. Aziraphale gave him a helpless little shrug. “Er, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. “You aren’t planning to stay here to, uh, monitor our progress, are you?”

“Of course not. I think I have better things to do than to watch you two losers bump uglies,” said Gabriel, scathingly, and in a _the lady doth protest too much_ tone of voice, in Crowley’s opinion. “But I’ll at least make sure you don’t fuck things up during the home inning.”

“Home stretch,” corrected Crowley, long suffering.

Sighing, Aziraphale pressed a sweet kiss to Crowley’s lips. Despite it being a full year since they’d fallen into bed together, being kissed by Aziraphale, even chastely, still made Crowley’s toes curl. Fallen angel or not, he was so damn lucky. He smiled dopily at Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled back, still shy, even though an hour ago he’d fucked Crowley so hard he’d forgot which century they were in.

“What the hell was that? You can’t seduce a _demon_ with a schoolyard kiss. Put your back into it, Aziraphale!” Gabriel shouted.

Aziraphale jumped a little, and then, a trifle apologetically, wrapped one arm around Crowley’s lower back, the other around his shoulders, dipped him, and then snogged the life out of him. Birds sang. Fireworks exploded. The Horns of Heaven sounded (startling a handful of angels loitering at the water cooler near the music hall). When Aziraphale finally pulled him back up, Crowley clung to him, dizzy. 

“Alright, he looks suitably seduced,” said Gabriel, scrutinizing Crowley’s face. “Now make sure to screw him so hard he can’t walk for a week.”

“Yes yes,” said Aziraphale, quickly. “Thank you for all your help, can’t imagine how I would have managed without you. Please do go away now.”

“You’re welcome,” said Gabriel, with all the selfless candor of an archangel of his rank. “Do _not_ mess this up.”

“I will make sure to shag him into next week,” agreed Aziraphale gravely.

Gabriel clapped his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good man.” He shook Aziraphale’s shoulder, flashed a vaguely threatening grin at Crowley, and then whirled out of the room.

Crowley stared after him thoughtfully. “I can’t decide whether or not I’m still turned on by that kiss or horrified by your ex-boss.”

“Turned on,” Aziraphale decided for him, hugging him close.

Breaking into a grin, Crowley made quick work of Aziraphale’s bow tie, spun around so that he was holding the ends over his shoulder with both hands, and hauled him towards the stairs. “Come on, then. You have your marching orders. Gotta shag me so hard I can’t walk for a week.”

“What a terrible hardship,” said Aziraphale, laughing happily.

* * *

**Certificate of Commendation**  
presented to  
_Archangel Gabriel_  
for  
Preventing the Eternal Damnation of One (1) Principality  
Signed by  
_Archangel Gabriel_

“What are you doing,” said Michael.

“Michael!” Gabriel leaned back in his leather desk chair to grin up at her. God may have spoken to her, but _he_ was the one who fulfilled Her command. “I’m pleased to tell you that Aziraphale and the demon are successfully shagging, all thanks to me.”

Michael slowly cocked her head to the side, like some sort of creepy doll. She never really had got the hang of human bodies, not like Gabriel had.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“God’s Second Great Plan.” He smiled smugly. “I thought of the name myself. It sounds so much better than God’s Great Plan Part Two.”

Michael narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at him. Then she smiled. “Oh. I see. You’re referring to God’s request.”

Gabriel, who had instinctively reared back at the smile, straightened his cuffs and lounged back in his chair. Clearly, she was still writhing with jealousy. “The request where She asked _you_ to have _me_ tell Aziraphale to shtup the snake? Yes, that request.”

Michael braced her hands on the table and leaned forward, her awful smile stretching into a blood chilling grin. “Gabriel.” She paused, clearly relishing her next words. “They were already having sex.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, clearing out his ear with his pinky. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“They’re already shtupping. Shagging. Screwing each other silly. Since right after the Event,” said Michael, using the preferred angelic title for the failed Armageddon. “She just wanted you to tell them She approves of their relationship.”

“You—you’re—” Gabriel stuttered, for the first time in millennia. 

If possible, Michael’s grin widened. “Since you, technically, failed your mission, I suppose you won’t be needing this.” She plucked the commendation from his desk and, staring him directly in the eye, ripped it in half.

The ensuing battle (i.e. angelic slap-fight) between the two archangels lasted for the equivalent of three human weeks.

* * *

Gabriel sat on a bench in St. James’s Park, scowling ferociously at the ducks. He couldn’t _believe_ Michael tore up his commendation. He hadn’t _failed_. It was hardly his fault Uriel had given him the wrong information. As soon as Michael had so kindly corrected him, he’d marched over to Aziraphale’s damp little hellhole and told Aziraphale and his wormy little butt-buddy that God was just so thrilled that they were super duper in love or whatever. 

Well, at least Aziraphale was happy. He’d looked so disgustingly thrilled that God gave Her stamp of approval that Gabriel would have puked all over him if he’d had a digestive tract.

Now here he was, _without_ a commendation, even though he had successfully completed his mission, feeling like the butt of a really lame joke. He briefly entertained the idea of trying the whole hellfire shtick again, maybe on Michael this time, then sighed and slumped his elbows on his knees.

A fly buzzed past his nose.

“Why the long face?” said Beezlebub.

Gabriel glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

“Is that what you’re pouting about?” She shrugged. “‘Course I did.”

“Well I’ll have you know that I was still able to complete God’s Second Great Plan,” he said. “It was very important to let Aziraphale and Crowley know that She approved of their relationship. If I hadn’t, I’m sure it would have been the end of days.”

“It would’ve, would it?”

“Yes,” said Gabriel, with all the certainty of a man lying to himself to spare his own ego.

“Ri-ight.”

They watched the ducks. One very surprised drake quacked out a great blue fireball, incinerating a park bench.

Gabriel sighed and changed the duck back. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Funny ol’ world, innit,” Beezlebub said, “when She approves of a relationship between an angel and a demon.”

“Yeah.”

“Remember all that shite with the nephilim? It’s just wrong, is all I’m saying.” 

“Yeah,” Gabriel considered her thoughtfully. 

Then he plucked The Angelic Seduction Instruction Manual from the air and flipped through it until he found a suitable line. He turned to her, plastering on his most charming grin.

“If you were a chicken,” he said, “you’d be impeccable.”

Beezlebub ripped the manual out of his hands and smacked him with it, and Gabriel surprised them both by laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I had the beginning and the end, but the middle... Anyway, shoutout to Hello_Im_Death—you really nailed the ending, haha.


End file.
